


Location, Location

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Retirementlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s being a good sport, willing to go along with his little eccentricities, as she’s always done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Location, Location

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miabicicletta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/gifts).



> A Retirement!lock Sherlolly story for miabicicletta, to balance the feelings. Thanks for the beta!

The hold on her hands is firm and sure, movingly more slowly than his excitement would have him, but she’s blindfolded, and he needs to make sure she doesn’t trip and fall over the cobblestones of the drive. 

 

“Maybe it would have been easier if you’d just drugged me or something,” she comments with a small laugh, squeezing his fingers. She’s not happy to have been blindfolded since leaving London, but she’s being a good sport, willing to go along with his little eccentricities, as she’s always done.

 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he replies, leading her up to the threshold and stopping to unlock the door.

 

“Can I take this off, yet? Where are we, Sherlock? I can smell honeysuckle, so what’s going on?”

 

Sherlock smiles at her, even though she can’t see it. “Good, yes there’s honeysuckle just to your left.” He moves to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “But I know you can do better than that and this game is just beginning,” he whispers in her ear, amused that after all these years, he can still make her shiver. 

 

Molly’s lips twitch up a bit, but she clamps it down, pretending to be put upon. “Fine, then. If I figure it out, can I actually see it?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Right, okay,” she says, and Sherlock lets his hands travel from her shoulders down her arms to her hands, lifting them and placing them on their side of the door frame and stepping back from her. 

 

He watches as his wife touches the worn wood, her fingers hesitant and light, probably fearing splinters. She moves on to the door itself, her fingers curving around the knocker before leaning forward to take a whiff of the metal.

 

“Brass,” she whispers, her fingers lingering on engravings, and Sherlock holds his breath. “Sherlock, is this...is this the knocker from the flat?” she asks. 

 

“Perhaps,” he replies with a smirk.

 

She pushes the knocker with her fingers and it stays slightly askew. “Mmhmm,” she hums before stepping inside.

 

Sherlock watches as she takes in her surroundings little by little, touching and sniffing things here and there, mumbling her findings as she goes along. He watches, giving little input when she asks questions, guiding her around the room so she doesn’t bang up her knees or trip over furniture.

 

After nearly twenty years of marriage, he can tell that she’s mostly figured out what’s happening, her mumblings and questions becoming less and less as she moves through the spaces. And yet, she continues cataloging, now less about the mystery and more about the wonder of her surroundings. 

 

Her fingers are running up and down over the throw blanket on the window seat in the study. It’s hers, belonged to her mother, lovingly kept all these years. He can tell she’s done with the game now, but she’s waiting for him, just as she always has, his lovely patient Molly.

 

“Sherlock, why are we in this house? Why are the things we love here?” she finally asks. 

 

He steps over to her, reaching up to remove the blindfold from around her eyes. She blinks at the change of lighting momentarily, letting her eyes adjust and briefly letting them scan the room before looking back at his face.

 

He can’t keep eye contact for long, his eyes flicking to the desk that had once belonged to his brother. “You had mentioned retirement. I thought a change of venue might be in order.” His eyes meet hers again. “But only if you’re agreeable, of course.”

 

Her eyebrows flick up a bit, waiting for him to continue.

 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I believed that it would be easier to imagine being here if our things were here. Paint a clearer picture.” 

 

“Mmm,” she nods in reply, glancing down at her mother’s throw blanket and touches it lovingly once more before glancing out the window. Her features are unreadable, and Sherlock finds himself holding his breath, something cold churning in the pit of his stomach. It’s possible he’s made a mistake. “It does paint a picture,” she says quietly. 

 

She steps towards him, going onto her tip toes and he meets her halfway, their lips meeting in a soft kiss, and the clenching in Sherlock’s stomach eases. Molly pulls away, taking his hand and giving him a soft smile. 

 

“Show me the rest of it,” she says quietly, and he leads her outside, noting that her smile only grows wider when she sees the bees. 

 

fin


End file.
